The SMD: In The Wings

At the most severe height, it's the tormented woman that drowned her kids in Texas a few years back. The next step down would be Munchausen by proxy and all the disturbing psychosis that goes with it. A few rungs down the ladder resides the slightly crazed, cutthroat parents who push their young ens to perform/dazzle/win (to appease their own whatever), proclaiming "it's his/her dream and I'm just helping to achieve it!!!"so as not to come off as misplaced aggressive as they fear they are. A few rungs below that are the parents that blindly interject their gifted kids/all attributes and accomplishments regardless of relevance to the conversation, broadcasting how great they are at passing on genes and being humble. No matter where you fall on the societal shame ladder, one thing unites all: you are no longer in the shining star in the spotlight, but the seasoned roadie shuffling around backstage.


It's your own damn fault, too. You procreated, you chose to teach them to be agreeable and well mannered and to be themselves. So get out of the way while the rest of us delight in the precociousness, or something like that.

Weather it's the residual cuteness swag, or the on-sight smiles and giggles, at emotionally drained low points (submerged in Single Mama Drama, I can have a few low points a week), it starts stinging when you aren't automatically included. It can be implied, but never related in the same giddy gushy-ness, so might as well be not at all. No one rushes to give me a hug and hand me a balloon like they do Logan, when I'm the one that could use it half the time. I realize how immature and asshole this all sounds. It's a very base level truth though, even if it gets ignored or suppressed for the sake of sanity and or healthy development. It's still there, if your honest.


The little darling sweeps in, destroying your daily life as you knew it in every way, only to increasingly encroach on your identity, too. Something you've tried to maintain in spite of and because of them, equally. Big, lonely, insult-to-injury ouch. Even if I'm not standing on any particular rung of the shame ladder, I can see how it could escalate to such.

I'm honorably the alpha and omega of Logan's frequently glamorous pint-sized world, and it's a worthy consolation every time I/anyone else remembers that. Despite all the firm disciplining and soft nurturing used to sculpt a stand-out kid, it truly is fifty-fifty. She deserves all the oohs and aahs any interesting person with a zeal for life does. So fuck it. Quit being a needy wuss about it, eh? Be proud, not beat down. Fight the important battles, not the neurotic self-imposed ones. Hopefully she'll glean that lesson along the way, too.

When she's eighteen and gets the hell out, I can revert to the ol' one lady show. A passion project to rival the last revival, if you catch my drift.